Worth It
by The Wykkyd
Summary: Some things are just worth it. Draco Malfoy is one of those things. H/D AU


**Disclaimer: **Characters featured in this story are not my creation, and I make no money writing these things. No one panic.

**A/N: **So I know I'm still in the middle of Thirteenth to Fifth, my chapter-length drama/romance/angst-fest. But I'm super stuck on that story now so I've been playing with other plotlines to get some inspiration back. It's not really working, but to my dedicated and patient and incredible TF fans out there, yes I'm still writing it. I won't abandon it.

For now, here's some very dramatic and angsty and sexy Harry/Draco to keep you entertained.

This is a one-shot, and I will not do a sequel. Just so we're all on the same page.

**Warning: **There is a pretty graphic sex scene in this story. It is rated M for a reason. To make it better, sex is between two boys, so you best get over that one right now or stop reading. This is also relatively un-edited. I skimmed through it to get the obvious stuff taken care of, but other than that it's untouched. If you feel the need to correct mistakes that's fine, but I probably won't actually go back and fix them (lazy lazy). So just read for fun!

**Worth It**

It was the wedding of the decade. The ceremony had been perfect for the occasion: it was an elegant and sophisticated joining of two of the most influential and powerful—not to mention wealthy—houses in England: the Malfoys and the Greengrass'. While the main event had been attended by well over three hundred people, it had been Astoria's wish to keep their reception small and intimate.

Draco reflected on the different possible means of 'small and intimate' when he stepped foot into the lavish restaurant, frowning for a moment before he remembered Atoria had banned him from frowning all night. The people in attendance stood and gave the newlyweds a round of enthusiastic applause as they entered the room, and Draco's eyes widened when he noticed just how many people there were. When Astoria mentioned 'small and intimate,' Draco had assumed it meant immediate family and very close friends only. Twenty people, perhaps, if not less. The restaurant, which happened to be the most expensive and tasteful restaurant in all of London, was completely closed down for the reception, of course, but Draco still spotted an easy sixty places set for reception guests. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at his new wife.

"They did a wonderful job with the decorations," she remarked with a small smile, gazing around the room. Draco fully agreed. The restaurant had transformed itself from its usual dark color scheme. The round tables were dressed in white, purple and white flowers acting as centerpieces, and dark purple table runners tying in their wedding colors. Sparkling stones were scattered over every surface, reflecting the lights from hundreds of candles placed on the tables and counters.

"They did," Draco replied. "When you said 'small and intimate,' however, I wasn't picturing _this_," he added with a wry smile. Astoria just laughed, smacking his arm lightly.

"Please, sixty-five people still counts as small. We had three hundred and sixty people at the ceremony!" Draco frowned reflexively. "And don't frown!" she reminded. With a long-suffering sigh, Draco let his stunning wife lead him to their table, which was already seated by their parents, Draco's best man Blaise, and Astoria's younger sister Daphne. Blaise looked incredibly intoxicated at this point, which probably had something to do with how Daphne was literally hanging off his arm and attempting to feed him small bites of buttered roll. Draco saw his friend's pleading glance and smirked, shaking his head. Blaise was on his own. Astoria could save him if she was so inclined.

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," Narcissa Malfoy greeted, embracing her son and daughter-in-law before they moved on to greet Astoria's parents. "It was a beautiful ceremony, no? And just look at this place! I had my doubts when the manager told us of her decorating plans, but I see my doubts had no foundation."

"Yes, it's beautiful, mother," Draco agreed absently, shaking his father's hand and turning to the Greengrass parents.

"Welcome to the family," Rufus Greengrass said boisterously, his sentiments repeated by his wife. Draco gave them winning smiles and shook their hands warmly before allowing him to take a seat, Astoria settling herself beside him. As the conversation started up again around the room, Draco found himself looking around the familiar setting, still in awe over the transformation.

"You need to _relax,_" Astoria hissed in his ear.

"What, do I not look relaxed?" Draco asked her a low voice. She shook her head, her brown curls bouncing with the movement.

"You do to anyone who doesn't know you," she replied, "your parents and Blaise will see through it in a second." Draco took a breath and steeled his face into one of relaxed calm, throwing on a smile for effect. She took a moment to consider before nodding her approval.

"I need a glass of champagne. Or a shot of something incredibly aged and strong," he muttered. Astoria laughed, replying by taking the champagne bottle settled in an elegant vase of ice before them and pouring Draco and herself generous glasses, passing the bottle off to Narcissa after.

"Champagne now, wine with dinner, then you can start doing shots with Blaise. He looks like he might need it, what with the way my sister looks ready to eat him," she remarked quietly. Draco chuckled, giving her a fond look.

They had spent many evenings perfecting their 'loving newlywed' routine: the loving glances and brief touches that all stupidly-in-love couples exhibited. Blaise, Pansy, and Astoria's best friend Susan had helped, watching them and dining with them until it was deemed that they could pull it off. Now it seemed second nature to both of them. Even their parents wouldn't be able to tell how _not_ in love they were.

Draco clutched his glass of champagne and took a quick, but deep, drink. He never should have let Astoria's parents choose the reception location. Of course they would choose the one restaurant in the city that reminded Draco of him. This was where they had first met, where they'd had their first drink together, where Draco would come to pick him up after his shift every Friday and Saturday before taking him out…or taking him in, at least before they had moved in together. So of course, in some sort of karma-inflicted torture, Astoria's parents chose this restaurant as their number one reception place, and no amount of persuading was going to make them change their minds. At least the man in his thoughts wasn't working tonight, Draco thought. He failed to take much comfort in the thought.

"Oh my god," Astoria suddenly announced, clutching Draco's arm so tight her manicured nails dug through his jacket into his skin. The exclamation was loud enough to attract the attention of their parents, who looked up from their conversation.

"What, dear?" Eleanor Greengrass asked, looking around the room for something horribly out of place.

"That…that is not the head waiter we agreed upon," Astoria said, her nails digging further into Draco's arm in panic. Draco couldn't look for fear of who he would see.

"Oh, that. Well, we got a call earlier today saying that the original head waiter for the evening was unexpectedly ill. I'm sure this waiter will be just fine: he's the son of the owners of the restaurant, actually. He came with the highest recommendation, I'm not sure why we didn't select him originally," Eleanor replied.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" Astoria demanded, glancing at her now very pale husband.

"We didn't want to concern you on your wedding day, dear," Eleanor said, waving her hand.

"Besides, it's probably better this way. Harry Potter has an astounding knowledge of the menu," Narcissa mentioned offhand. "Are you all right, Draco?"

Draco dropped his champagne glass, heart shuddering to a momentary stop.

There was a moment of shocked silence before Astoria grabbed a napkin off the table and pressed it into Draco's jacket, mopping up the champagne. Very little had actually spilled, but his jacket was going to be wet for the remainder of the evening. Glad for the excuse to leave the table, Draco stood and removed his jacket, smiling apologetically to the table.

"I'm so sorry. I'm just going to take care of this. Please, you can choose the wine for dinner without me," he said before turning and all but running from the table towards the bathroom. A hand grabbed his arm and he turned to see Blaise walking with him.

"Jesus, panic much?" the Italian muttered, his lips quirked. Draco felt like decking him.

"Harry isn't supposed to be here!" he hissed. "Panic is deserved. I think I also had a heart attack."

Blaise laughed. "Yes, where is he? He disappeared again."

"I'm right here," a tenor voice spoke up from behind them. Draco walked faster, bringing their party of three into the hall and out of sight from the head table and his parents. He spun around, grabbing Blaise's shoulder for support.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, his eyes taking in Harry's pale face. It wasn't obvious, but he could tell the dark-haired man had been crying. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_.

"Seriously, Potter, we already talked about this," Blaise added. "You're supposed to be at home watching porn or something. Anything to get your mind off this."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "I'm well aware, _Zabini._" Draco was proud of the sneer in Harry's voice for a moment. "I was called in by my parents. Zach was projectile vomiting all morning and couldn't be here tonight."

"And they didn't have anyone else but _you_?" Blaise asked incredulously. Draco groaned. He knew they didn't. Only Harry, Zach, Lily and James were head servers, and one of them had to be on premise at all times while the restaurant was open. The Potter parents happened to be on vacation.

Harry shook his head. "No. Believe me, I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here," he said, looking at Draco.

"No shit, Harry," the blond muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Yeah? Well you're not the one watching his recently _married _lover fall all over his new _wife_," Harry snapped, making Draco wince at the truth of the words.

Blaise put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Calm down. You two need to get your shit together, or you'll be the number one headline across the fucking country tomorrow morning," he interrupted. Harry took a rather shaky breath, and Draco took a chance to step close and press his palm to Harry's chest. The server tensed and Draco dropped his hand.

"I need to present wines to the head table," Harry muttered. "Are you coming, Draco?"

"Yes. We'll both come," Blaise replied, clamping a firm hand on Draco's forearm.

"Wait, I need to do something with this jacket. I spilled champagne all over it," Draco said quickly. Harry turned and raised an eyebrow, holding his hand out for the jacket.

"I'll pass it off to Luna. She's a wizard with that kind of thing," he offered. Draco nodded and relinquished the garment, and Harry disappeared into the kitchen, calling for Luna. "Come on," he muttered, jerking his head toward the restaurant. "Let's just get this over with." Blaise nodded, glancing at his friend in concern for a moment before following him back to the table.

.

Harry passed off Draco's jacket to Luna with simple instructions about getting the champagne out with minimal damage to what was probably a thousand-something pound garment and returned to the front of the kitchen, which was only separated from the rest of the restaurant by a counter and a glass panel. It was a good place to view all the tables from: despite the fact that he was clearly visible to most people seated on the other side of the counter, few people actually paid much attention to the going-ons in the kitchen.

He really needed to get to the head table and go over the wine list: the other servers wouldn't go to their respective tables until he attended the head table, which meant that he was in charge of the pacing for the evening. Instead, Harry watched as Draco and Blaise took their seats at the table, Draco brushing his hand on Astoria's shoulder and whispering something in her ear. He clenched his hands into fists and exhaled in a sharp breath.

He had known for months that this was going to happen; that Draco was going to marry some high-class girl from a rich family. He figured he should count himself lucky: the situation with Astoria was about as perfect as it could get. He had no fears that Astoria would ever take Draco away from him—_beyond fucking marrying him, _Harry silently supplied—and he didn't need to worry about Draco leaving him for her—_except the whole marrying business_. Astoria smiled at his lover, flicking cautious eyes over to meet his gaze. Harry got along well with her, they were good friends, in fact, but in that moment he couldn't dredge up a smile for her. He felt slightly sick.

"Harry, we really should get wine going so we can get rid of all this salad," Terry called from his station at the expediting counter. Harry gave a jerky nod to him and three other servers who were waiting on his cue. He left the kitchen through the side door, mentally going over the wines that would best pair with the food the head table would most likely be interested in.

He only managed to get through the wine presentation because he didn't once look at Draco. Hopefully, his avoided gaze wasn't so obvious anyone at the table save Blaise, Astoria, and Draco himself, but even if one of the parents noticed he couldn't bring himself to care. Thankfully, Lucius had been opinionated enough on the wine selection that Harry was able to whittle their options down to two, which meant he was able to let Lucius simply taste each wine before making a decision. Once a fine, crisp chardonnay was selected, Harry gathered two bottles and returned to the table once more.

He wondered if Draco noticed how unusually shaky his hands were as he opened the wine. It was a smooth presentation, nothing unprofessional or unpracticed about it—Harry really was too good for anything like that to happen—but he knew his hands trembled as he poured Draco and Astoria's glasses. The pitying looks he _knew _he was getting from Blaise didn't help at all.

.

Halfway through their seven course meal Astoria flicked her eyes over to the kitchen where Harry's tall form could be seen surveying the dining room. He was speaking quietly to the petite blonde server who wore a rather concerned expression, and after a moment she shook her head and retreated further into the kitchen and out of Astoria's sight.

Harry looked horrible, and she could only imagine what he could be feeling at the moment. He looked paler than normal, the muscles in his arms standing out and revealing his clenched fists. While he had been nothing but charming and professional while serving the head table thus far, Astoria had caught his trembling hands and the way he couldn't even look at Draco. He had been crying, dragging his hands through his hair—which was messier than usual—and his lower lip was so bitten she could see blood smeared on it.

"This is killing him, isn't it," Draco commented softly, lowering his voice so only his new wife could hear him. Astoria noticed he was looking directly at Harry. She didn't want to say anything, unsure if Draco could really handle her opinion. "You don't have to say anything. I know it is. He's angry with me," he added after a pause. "God he looks horrible."

The blonde server had returned to Harry's side and pressed a glass of water into his hands. After listening to her speak for a moment, Harry nodded and turned back into the kitchen, taking a long drink from the glass of water. Draco stood up quickly, making the rest of the table turn to him in surprise.

"Just going to the bathroom," he said, shaking off Astoria's hand that was fluttering on his arm in concern. Her eyes flashed him a warning and he gave an almost imperceptible nod to her before leaving in the direction of the bathroom, which happened to be near the entrance to the kitchen.

Unfortunately, as he arrived the kitchen was in a flurry of activity as the servers, the expeditor, and the cooks rushed to get the fifth course plated and put onto trays. He didn't see Harry anywhere. Desperate to find him, Draco caught a tall man in a serving uniform by the arm. The man gave him a disapproving look before he recognized Draco as the groom.

"Sir? Can I help you?"

"Where's Ha—the head server?" Draco demanded.

"Is something the matter? I believe he's in the office. I can retrieve him if you like," the man offered. Draco quickly shook his head.

"No, that's all right then. I'll speak to him with the next course I suppose," he said, smiling and waiting a minute for the server to nod in return and head back into the kitchen. Once he was sure that no one was paying too much attention to him, Draco walked down the hall in the direction of the office. He didn't bother knocking before he slipped through the door and shut it firmly behind him.

Harry had been sitting at the desk, head in his hands, but he jerked upright when the door opened. He glared when he realized who it was.

"Draco, look, I can't do this right now," he said, exasperated.

Draco froze.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

"I mean, I can't fucking talk to you during this whole thing!" Harry yelled, confident that the thick door would prevent anyone from hearing. Plus, the rest of the staff was in the kitchen preparing for the next course. "It's hard enough having to watch you and Astoria."

"I'm _sorry, _Harry. I can't…just…You look terrible," he said quietly.

Harry laughed drily. "I feel terrible." And he did. It felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, over and over and over again. "Look," Harry started, "I'm barely keeping it together here, okay? Like, verge-of-fucking-tears. Talking to you just makes it worse."

Draco walked over to the desk and wrapped his arms around Harry, glad when his lover didn't pull away. He pressed a kiss to Harry's neck. "You don't know how sorry I am," he whispered.

"Don't, Draco. Not now," Harry said. His voice was sharp, and Draco winced.

"Fuck, this isn't any easier for me!" the blond exclaimed.

This time, Harry did shrug out of Draco's arms. "This is just stupid. I mean, what kind of boyfriend just lets their fucking partner marry someone else? What the _fuck _was I thinking?" Harry cried, jumping up from his chair to pace back and forth across the room. Draco looked on helplessly.

"Harry…We talked about this. We promised this wouldn't change anything," he pleaded. Suddenly, he was terrified. What if Harry left him? Fuck, most people would have done just that a long time ago. "Please. Don't…don't do this."

Harry shook his head. "Just get out. Please. I really can't talk to you like this, I'm too worked up." Draco didn't know what else to say, so he settled for brushing a hand over Harry's lower back and leaving the room.

As soon as the door shut, leaving Harry in an empty room, he slid to the floor, the sobs he had choked back all night spilling forth.

He hadn't been lying when he told Draco the whole thing was stupid. He had been dating the blond for three years—they were happy, crazy, stupidly in love. Still were, even though Harry was pretty sure he was going through hell and back dealing with all the wedding business. As if hearing about wedding plans for almost a year wasn't enough, now he was fucking serving the newlyweds dinner. He hated everything about the idea of Draco marrying Astoria—he understood why they had done it, why they practically _had _to—but he hadn't thought that when the day came that it would hurt this much. He thought he'd prepared himself for it.

But that was before Draco and Astoria walked into the restaurant that night to uproarious applause, looking for all the world like the perfect couple everyone thought they were. Harry was watching from his usual post in the kitchen, but had to turn away from the cheery sight for fear that he would throw up.

Now, in his office, he was pretty sure he was falling apart. Through teary vision he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was eight o'clock. At least four more hours worth of a shift. Fuck.

A timid knock on his door had him frantically wiping at his face, but Luna entered too soon and immediately noticed what a mess Harry looked.

"Oh, goodness, Harry. You're really upset, aren't you? I knew something was wrong," she said gently, shutting the door and hurrying to his side. On the way she grabbed the box of tissues from the desk, taking two out and handing them to him.

"Thanks, Luna," he said, dabbing at his bloodshot eyes.

"It's Mr. Malfoy isn't it? The younger one?" she said suddenly. He froze, tensing.

"Um…No, I'm just…it's just some personal stuff," he stammered, hating how more tears were already fighting to slip down his face again.

Luna crouched on the floor near him. "Oh please, I've known for months something was going on between you two. He comes here too often for you to be casual friends, and you never mention him by name, so I figured you were hiding something…like a relationship," she reasoned. "I've known you for years, Harry. I can't imagine how hard this is for you."

He smiled in spite of himself. "I can't really imagine it either," he admitted. It was one of those incomprehensible, overwhelming things to think about. How big was the universe? How much did it hurt to watch your lover marry someone else?

"Wait here, Harry. I'll be right back." Luna was gone before he could react, but returned in less than two minutes. Her nimble hands carried a lighter, pack of cigarettes, a pack of gum, and a glass of water. She laid the items on the desk. "Drink the water, go chain a few out back, and grab a couple pieces of gum."

"I need to serve the next course with you guys," he protested, pushing himself off the floor and balancing on shaky legs.

"Ridiculous. You look a wreck. I'll serve the head table and the rest of the servers can take my section. You can trust me, I won't screw anything up," she said firmly.

Harry smiled at you. "Of course I trust you. I guess I'll take a break. Just fifteen minutes."

"Take half an hour, if we need you I'll come and get you. Now I need to get back to the kitchen, but please take a break?" It would be just like Harry to say he would take a break and then neglect to actually take it.

Smiling, Harry nodded. "Thanks, Luna, you're the best."

"I know. And don't worry, I won't tell anyone about you and the _groom_," she said, a rare snub in her voice when she finished the sentence. "I can't believe he's marrying anyone except you! I hope he has a damn good reason, and I hope you've really thought about if this is worth it," she added seriously. Harry felt his heart clench, and he couldn't dredge up a smile for her when she left. With a sigh, he grabbed the cigarettes, lighter, and gum, and left the office.

.

Draco panicked when the petite blonde server served the head table their next course. She answered their questions about Harry vaguely and professionally before changing the subject and explaining the bisque to them. Draco didn't listen to her or to anyone. Astoria was whispering to him, and his mother asked him a question, but he ignored them both, pretending as if he simply hadn't heard.

He knew it would be hard. Hard for Harry, especially. But he never thought that he would lose the black-haired man over it. They had spent so much time talking about it. Harry had promised so many times that he understood, that it wouldn't change much. Clearly that was no longer true. His grey eyes still searching for Harry, Draco vowed that if Harry told him tonight that he was leaving for good he would call the whole thing off, announce to the whole fucking room that the wedding was a sham. He would give up his inheritance and his job and his family and the Malfoy line in one fell swoop to get Harry back. If Harry had told him a year ago when the marriage had been arranged that he wouldn't be with a married man, Draco would have refused Astoria's hand. They had discussed that too, but at the time Harry had insisted that the plan to marry Astoria at least long enough to satisfy their parents and their elite social circle was the best way to go about things. Now, Draco wasn't so sure.

A sharp pain in his thigh snapped him out of his head.

"Draco, what is it?" Astoria hissed in his ear. Across the round table Blaise was even looking concerned, although that could have been concern for Draco or for himself, with the way Daphne was almost in his lap. Draco couldn't help but snort at his friend's pain. Blaise glared. "_Draco. Pay. Attention,_" his new wife tried again.

"Hmm?"

"What's going on?" she asked. "You're ignoring the world. And you look miserable. No more frowning or people really will get suspicious."

"Harry might leave me," Draco blurted out before he could stop himself. He was lucky he managed to keep his voice down, managed not to freak out and panic and shout or something horribly embarrassing and disastrous.

"What?!" Astoria whispered, her eyes wide and concerned.

"I can't talk about it."

"If you're sure."

"I'm really sure. Just…pinch me when I start to look miserable again." He gave her a bright, cheery, fake-as-hell smile and picked up his spoon, determined to choke down some of the dish that probably cost Astoria's parents a hundred pounds at least. It tasted like ash. Astoria pinched his arm.

Harry returned with the final course, the blonde—she had said her name was Luna—having served their table the sixth course. Harry looked pale and made of marble. His eyes were dull and slightly red, and Draco could smell the very faint smell of cigarette smoke on him. Harry never smoked. The dark-haired man still wouldn't look at him, and this time, Draco noticed he wasn't looking at Astoria either. Draco let Harry's smooth voice wash over him as he explain the dessert course to the table, before giving the table a nod and leaving as gracefully as he came.

Draco didn't see him again that night, and when he asked Luna, she told him in a harsh voice that Harry had gone home for the evening and she would be more than happy to assist the head table with whatever they needed. She didn't seem happy, though. In fact, she had a spitting mad glint in her eye that made Draco wonder what Harry had said to her. If he had said anything at all.

After dessert the tables were cleared away and the restaurant was transformed into a dance floor. Dancing was a relief. The music covered up his conversation with Astoria, who he clung to honestly because he thought he might collapse with shock if she let go for a moment. She calmed him down when panic threatened to strangle him. Whispering, "he won't leave you, darling. He loves you as much as you love him. He _loves _you."

Draco prayed she was right.

"I need to go home tonight," he whispered in her ear before twirling her swiftly. She turned back into him, her small hand wrapping around his shoulders again.

"You can't. Someone is going to notice if you leave in a separate car," she pointed out.

"I'll leave your manor late. Around two AM, then. I can't…I have to know if he's still there."

"He'll be there."

"But he's hurting, and it's my fault. I would run out this door now if I could," Draco said.

Astoria gave him a sad smile and raised her hand to brush a thumb over Draco's cheek. "You're really wonderful. Harry's lucky to have you."

"_I'm _lucky to have _Harry_," Draco corrected.

"That too." She winked. It didn't make Draco feel any better.

…

Harry stumbled through the door of his flat, dropping his keys unceremoniously on the table by the entrance. His shoes were kicked off and jacket dropped carelessly on the floor in his haste to get out of his serving uniform. He ripped at the buttons, throwing the simple collared shift across the room, irrationally angry at it for reminding him so much of the last eight hours of hell he had just endured.

The flat was deathly silent and he tried to fill it by flicking on the TV to a mindless talk show with a mildly attractive male host. Divested of his shirt Harry grabbed the jumper that Draco had left lying on the back of the sofa. It was Draco's, but it smelled like a mix of him and Draco. It smelled like them. Breathing unevenly, Harry tugged the jumper over his bare chest as he walked to the bedroom for his pajama bottoms.

Dressed in more comfortable clothes, Harry made an unashamed beeline for the liquor cabinet, pulling out a bottle of Jameson and returning with it to the sofa. He didn't bother with a glass. He was desperate to feel nothing. Or at least to feel less.

Taking a swig and swallowing, Harry didn't fight the tears that burned in his eyes and eventually spilled from his cheeks. He let himself cry, content that he was alone and no one would see. He didn't have to be anyone's boss for now, didn't have to smile graciously at Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, didn't have to see Astoria's concerned looks and Draco's heartbroken death-warmed-over eyes that seemed to scream at him. Draco was gone now and if he followed the plan wouldn't be home until mid-day tomorrow. Harry took another drink. And another.

He loved thinking about him and Draco, even if it hurt sometimes. Really, Harry knew that he could never leave the blond. Draco could drag him to hell and back—literal hell, burning, fiery hell—and he would follow. Fuck, he would even lead, if Draco wanted him to. They probably were going to hell as it was for trying to pull off a stunt like the sham wedding of the oldest children of the two most powerful families in Britain, outside of perhaps the royal family.

He met Draco for the first time at the restaurant, of course. Draco was there with a client, Harry thought it was a member of Parliament, and they were going over basic campaign options. Harry had been their server. Draco had left a five hundred dollar tip despite that their bill was only eight hundred dollars, and when Harry made to refuse the generous offer, Draco had simply asked him for his phone number. Harry remembered scribbling a number down in Draco's notebook, completely unaware that he was handing it to the person who would soon be his entire world. He had found out two weeks into their relationship that Draco Malfoy was the son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the most influential cabinet ministers, and that Draco was an incredibly well known and successful campaign manager. It didn't mean much to him until Draco, with an uncharacteristically nervous expression, explained that being from the Malfoy line—let alone the sole heir—made him a bit of a national celebrity. He begged Harry to understand why their relationship had to be kept a secret. Harry had readily agreed—their closest friends knew and that was really enough for him—but he never thought it would be kept such a secret that Draco would end up fucking marrying someone else.

The whole marriage thing really wasn't Draco's fault, though, Harry knew, even in his inebriated state. Lucius Malfoy had arranged for everything with Astoria's father behind everyone's back, and by the time Draco and Astoria found out about it the only way to refuse would have been for Astoria to admit she was seeing a man with a criminal record—which she honestly was—and for Draco to admit that he was gay—which he obviously was. It would have cost him his family, job, and inheritance. It would have cost her the same. And yet, Draco had asked Harry firmly and often if he wanted Draco to just come out to world. Harry could never be that selfish, so he kept saying no. But maybe he should have said yes.

Harry wiped his eyes, sitting up and quickly laying back down on the couch when his stomach rolled. The clock above the cold fireplace read one in the morning: he had been lying in misery on the sofa for over two hours. The once-full bottle was half empty, which explained the nausea. Suddenly the TV turned mute, plunging the flat into silence that was so thorough Harry started. He felt around for the remote which was most likely trapped underneath him, but a persistent buzzing noise distracted him.

Phone call. With a groan Harry slid off the couch, stumbling when his balance tilted one way and then the other. Unable to walk straight he sank to his knees, crawling towards his jacket. By the time he'd actually gotten the phone out of the jacket pocket the phone had long since buzzing. He looked at the screen.

Fourteen missed calls. Fuck. The crawl had made his stomach feel even worse and Harry knew any moment he would have to make a dash for the nearest trash can, but he still unlocked the phone and looked to see who had called him. Hermione, once. Ron, once. Luna, twice. Draco, ten. Had he called Draco after he got off work? Harry couldn't remember. His phone history told him he had not. Stomach lurching more insistently, Harry managed to stagger to his feet and trip and stumble his way into the kitchen, collapsing by the trash just in time to lose what small amount of food he had managed to choke down for lunch. Mostly he just threw up whiskey. It burned as much on the way up as it did on the way down.

Wiping his hand across his mouth, Harry dragged himself up and filled a glass with water, rinsing his mouth out in a stupor. He still felt nauseous, but at least he didn't have to worry about drowning in his own vomit or something equally as disgusting.

Rousing himself from the pool of self-pity he had existed in for the evening, Harry pushed away from the counter and walked through the flat to the bathroom, turning the water on to the proper temperature and stripping. He stepped into the shower and let the lukewarm water run over his face, down his neck, over his torso, between his legs. Was it just last morning that he stood here with Draco, the blond's mouth hot and wet around his cock, his fingers sliding in and out of his arse? Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, snapping out to grab the shower curtain when his balance failed him a moment later. Vaguely aware that taking a shower while completely wasted may be a really good way to slip and fall and concuss himself, Harry sat down, holding his pounding head in one head while he fumbled with the shampoo with the other.

A half hour later Harry dragged himself out of the shower, wrapped himself in a blanket without bothering to dress, and stumbled back to the sofa to wait for Draco. With any luck, he wouldn't wake up until the blond got home the next day.

…

Draco returned to the Greengrass Manor with Astoria around two in the morning. Their reception had gone late, far later than he wanted it to. By the time he was able to slip out of the restaurant with Astoria he wanted nothing more than to take a taxi straight to his flat. Would Harry even be there? He should have told Harry to go to the manor, but Harry hated the manor. He wasn't from an old family: to him, old stone estates weren't nostalgic and comforting. They were just old and stone. In the limousine Astoria was blissfully silent, aware that his mood wouldn't be improved by anyone but Harry at this point.

The manor was warm and inviting—to him—and Astoria had given him a quick kiss on cheek and a reassuring hug before she disappeared to her room for the night. No doubt her boyfriend was waiting diligently for her. Several of the many spare rooms now belonged to him, because he and Harry would probably be spending quite a few nights here now that he and Astoria were married. To not be seen coming and going from the manor would be too suspicious. His rooms were in the west wing, whereas Astoria's were in the north, so it was easy to exist in the same building and rarely see each other. Most of his things were still in the flat, but Draco had several outfits stored in his suite. He selected a simple t-shirt and jeans before changing and curling up on the sofa in front of the fire, which one of the maids had thought to stoke for him.

Looking at his phone Draco noticed with disappointment that Harry hadn't called him. He had already called his boyfriend a million times, but he never answered. Draco wasn't sure if that was because Harry was asleep, he was being ignored, or if Harry's phone was off. Tugging on his hair, the blond practically threw himself off the sofa, dragging a sweatshirt over his head and flicking the hood up. He dialed a number on his cell quickly and instructed a taxi to pick him up at the address a block down the road in ten minutes, then he put a pair of relatively simple runners on and left his rooms.

On his way down the road he shot a text off to Astoria informing her that he would be at home for the remainder of the night as well as all of tomorrow. Her only response was to be careful and to not forget about their 'honeymoon' that was to be taking place in several days. In reality, their honeymoon was a vacation with their true significant others: Astoria was going on an adventurous trip to Vietnam and Draco was taking Harry to Thailand. Both aristocrats were sure that the press wouldn't follow them to a foreign country, and the two countries they had chosen were close enough that they could travel as a 'couple' for most of the way.

The taxi was waiting for him when he showed up to the proper address, and he climbed in and rattled off directions to the driver.

The lights were off in their apartment, and Draco tripped over Harry's shoes before he managed to flick the light switch in the entrance. Harry's phone was lying on the ground next to his shoes and Draco picked it off the floor to set it safely on the small table where the two of them stored their car keys. Toeing off his runners and pulling the sweatshirt off, Draco quietly walked into the living room, using the ambient light from the entry to illuminate the path.

Harry was sprawled on the couch, his pale chest exposed, rising and falling peacefully. The half empty bottle of whiskey on the floor was telling, and Draco winced, smoothing Harry's hair back in sympathy. It took a lot to get Harry to drink so much. Gracefully sitting down on the sofa next to his boyfriend, Draco continued running his hands through the soft dark hair. It was still damp: no doubt Harry had showered before falling asleep. Usually, Draco's light touches would have instantly woken the server, so Draco was partly surprised when Harry had little reaction to his touch save leaning into his hand. Smiling, Draco leaned in and pressed his lips to Harry's soft ones, lingering for just a moment before pulling away. He arranged the blanket more securely around his lover and slid his arms underneath Harry's knees and back, picking him up and holding the lighter man securely against his chest. Harry made his task slightly easier by curling into Draco's chest and resting his head on the blond's shoulder.

Draco carried the man to their bedroom and gently placed him on the mattress, lifting the covers and sheets out of the way and untangling the blanket. He grinned when he noticed Harry had not bothered to even put pants on after his shower. It took every effort to not reach out and stroke Harry's gorgeous cock, but Draco knew that even if he did, Harry was sleeping off whiskey and wouldn't wake up for hours. Satisfying himself with a wet kiss to Harry's hip, the blond arranged his sleeping lover under the covers and tucked him in before standing and removing his own clothes. Smirking, he slipped his own pants off as well, before slipping into bed and gathering Harry's pliant body into his arms.

Sleep wouldn't come. Harry's words from earlier in the evening tore at Draco's mind until he was so filled with 'what ifs' and 'how comes' his eyes blurred with tears. His grip around Harry's chest tightened until the smaller man groaned in his sleep, squirming slightly to try and escape the blond's arms. Draco immediately relaxed, stroking the dark head of hair to soothe the both of them. Harry calmed, curling into Draco, who breathed a sigh of relief and hoped Harry would be as forgiving of him as his consciousness seemed to be.

…

The first thing Harry noticed when he woke was the pounding of his head, and the second was the rolling of his stomach that had him swearing and rolling out of bed. It was only after a minute of vomiting into the toilet that he realized he had been, in fact, in bed, when he vaguely remembered passing out on the couch to wait for Draco. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet and brushed his teeth quickly, flushing the toilet before stumbling back into his bedroom.

He really had been in bed. But not alone.

"Draco?" he blurted out, running a hand through his already disheveled hair as he looked around on the floor for some pants to cover himself with.

The man in question rolled over and then sat bold upright, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. Harry raised an eyebrow, but Draco didn't explain his reaction and instead tore out of bed and wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, pressing their naked bodies together.

Harry laughed quietly, dropping his pants back to the floor and returning Draco's embrace tightly.

"Harry…you said last night…you said…" Draco said, his words coming out in a jumble. Harry swayed, a rush of dizziness hitting him, but Draco kept him upright. "Are you okay? God, you must be feeling terrible. Go back to bed, I'll get you some water."

"And ibuprofen," Harry requested, kissing Draco's neck quickly before letting his arms fall. Draco gave him a long look and Harry realized that the blond looked nervous. "Aren't you supposed to be at Astoria's still?" he wondered.

Draco shook his head with a smile. "You thought I would stay there by myself when I knew you were at home doing God-knows-what? I thought you were moving out!" he exclaimed.

"What?! What are you talking about?"

The look flashed at Harry was incredulous, and Draco threw his hands into the air. "You kept saying how you 'couldn't do this' last night, and I had no fucking clue was '_this_' was so I thought maybe you were talking about _this_," the man gestured to the space in between them and then to around their shared bedroom, "and then you left without saying goodbye and I had no idea if you would even be here when I came by next. So I came right over after I got back to Astoria's."

"You brought me back to bed," Harry said with a small smile.

Draco nodded and moved his hands to grip the dark haired man's shoulders for a brief moment. "I'm going to get you some water. And painkillers. Just…stay here."

Harry jerked his head up and down, watching with concerned eyes as Draco left the room. He crawled back into the bed, not bothering to dress himself. It seemed he and Draco needed to have a talk. He never meant to the worry his lover so much.

It didn't take long for Draco to return to their room, holding a bottle of pills and a glass of water. Harry gratefully took two of the offered painkillers and drained the water glass before letting himself settle back into the bed, motioning Draco to scoot closer. The blond obliged, sighing softly in relief when Harry wrapped his arms around him and held tight.

"Are you all right?" the dark haired man asked.

Draco scoffed. "You're asking _me? _Do you have any idea how terrible you looked all last night? I…I can't even come up with an apology that would come close to making up for putting you through that."

"Won't lie. That was my worst nightmare. Pretty much, at least," Harry murmured into his lover's neck. "Helps that I got to wake up to you, though."

"After kissing the toilet 'good morning,'" Draco snickered. He paused for a moment before asking, "You want to yell and scream at me now? I know I deserve it." He smoothed Harry's messy mop of hair down, carding his fingers through it and disentangling the snarls.

"Not now. Later, maybe," Harry whispered. "Right now I'm too hung over."

"I don't deserve you. No one else would have stuck around after what happened last night."

"I know. I hope you're worth it."

Draco's heart clenched at the words, knowing they weren't meant with any ill intent, but nervous all the same. Harry was always so comfortable throwing around talk of their future together. Sometimes it wasn't an explicit statement, sometimes it was just a subtle sentence that let Draco know Harry wanted to keep him forever, be with him forever. They hadn't talked about marriage, not only was that legally out of the question but also Draco's social standing prevented it. But if it hadn't been off the table, Draco knew Harry would have asked to get married.

It wasn't that he didn't want to spend the rest of his life with Harry. He did. He just had a hard time admitting it. Harry seemed to understand his reluctance to talk about their relationship as if it was forever, but Draco always felt bad for his inadequacy at expressing all the things he wanted to. To him marriage was a dull legal move. It had been that way with his parents, and their parents, and now between himself and Astoria. He wasn't used to thinking of it as some romantic eternal-bond-of-love rot. He didn't know many people who were married, or even in long term relationships, that really meant it for the right reasons. Him and Harry, Astoria and her long-term and secret boyfriend Marc, but that was the end of the list.

Draco blinked, his hand stilling in Harry's hair. "Babe, I want you to know that I love you."

Harry shifted to look him in the eyes, and Draco felt guilty all over again seeing his boyfriend's bloodshot eyes that were still slightly rimmed with red. "I know, Draco…"

"Shhh. Let me get this out. I love you. I love you forever. If things had been different…know that I would marry you in a heartbeat." Harry's eyes widened. "I know it's important to you, and that you've made a sacrifice being with me because of that. And I'm thankful, so fucking thankful." He wanted to close his eyes, or even blink, because he could feel traitorous tears welling, but Harry's gaze was too compelling to shut out. "I'm not easy to date, and I don't talk about us being a long-term or even very serious thing, and that's wrong of me. So I'm sorry. But…I do love you. And I do want to be with you as long as you'll have me. And I would like that to be somewhere around the forever timeline," he said, quirking his lips. "Okay. That's it. I'm done."

Harry was silent and still for a second, before he leaned in and smashed his lips onto Draco's, kissing the taller man for all he was worth. When he broke away, Harry was beaming. "See? You _are _worth it," he whispered passionately, before claiming Draco's lips once again.

The blond moaned, adjusting their position so Harry was lying on top of him and his own hands were both fisted in thick, black hair. Harry's lips parted and Draco eagerly thrust his tongue through the opening, tasting toothpaste and not even caring that Harry had been throwing up just fifteen minutes ago. The smaller man spread his knees wider to properly straddle Draco's hips, rocking their pelvises together in slow gyrations that made Draco pull away from Harry's lips and gasp in desire.

"Fuck, Harry," he breathed as the man trailed kisses over his jaw and down his neck.

"Mmmm…that's the idea," came Harry's answer, before he latched onto Draco's right nipple and sucked. Draco moaned once more, arching his back and letting Harry move lower and lower until his lips ghosted over Draco's painfully hard cock. A moment later and wet heat surrounded him, one of Harry's hands gripping the length that his lips and tongue couldn't reach and twisting just the way he knew the blond liked it.

Arousal pulsed through Draco in heady waves, Harry's tongue and fingers doing their work until the blond's cock was leaking profusely, his head thrown back and hair disheveled. In a sudden moment of clarity Draco lifted his hand and tugged on Harry's hair. "No…want to come…inside you," he choked out. Harry paused his ministrations and Draco looked down to see piercing green eyes staring back, clearly sizing up his intentions. "Please. Let me feel you," he whispered.

Harry lifted his lips free with a wet pop, licking one last line of pre-cum clean before kissing Draco's hip and moving up his body. The blond leaned forward and met Harry in a passionate kiss as he slid his hands lower over his lover's strong back and finally, to the curve of his arse. His finger slipped down Harry's crack and he delighted in the shiver that wracked the smaller man's body for a moment when he reached the tight ring of muscle at Harry's entrance.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry asked lightly, arching his spine and pressing his arse into Draco's hand. The blond smiled and held his hand firm, letting Harry slid himself around his finger, and then pull back out by flattening his back once more. Returning Draco's smile Harry pushed his chest down, pressing their pectorals together as he arched his back once more, deeper, pushing Draco's finger back inside him. After several more thrusts, each one more desperate than the one before, Draco nipped at Harry's neck and cupped his arse with both hands, pushing his lover up so he had better access to Harry's entrance. With Harry's chest positioned over his mouth the blond could lean up and…

"Fucking _hell_, Draco!" Harry swore when Draco's tongue latched onto his nipple and a second finger slid into him, scissoring and stretching. Supporting himself on his bent arms, Harry helped Draco prepare him, continuing to thrust upwards when Draco's fingers pressed down. A third finger slid in and Harry groaned. It wasn't painful—they did this far too often for Harry to need much stretching at all—but Draco continued his ministrations for another minute. "Please, Draco. Please," Harry hissed, desperately thrusting his arse into his lover's fingers.

"Please what?" Draco whispered, his voice low and taunting. Harry's cock twitched in response.

"Fuck me," he mewled.

"Fuck you how?" Fingers slammed into Harry's arse, drawing another cry from him.

"Fuck me hard. Really hard."

Draco growled, jerking his hands away from Harry's arse and grasping his slender hips. Harry was light and easy to throw onto his back. While his lover tried to catch his breath, Draco groped the nightstand for the bottle of lube that was _somewhere…_right there. A generous squeeze later and Draco had slathered his erection, eyes fluttering shut at the slickness and the pressure of his own hand. A needy noise from Harry and his eyes flew open again, taking a moment to look at his boyfriend, sprawled on his back.

Harry's hair was messier than usual, sweat beading on his brow and making fine strands of black stick to his forehead, obscuring a peculiar scar he'd had since he was young. Taut abdominals twitched and flexed of their own accord, inspired and spurred on by arousal, which was present enough, if the hard and leaking cock was anything to go by. His legs were spread wide and he'd pushed a pillow beneath his hips, angling them up and exposing his flushed entrance to Draco's hungry eyes.

Draco positioned himself in between Harry's legs, grabbing both Harry's hands and pinning them to the bed. Leaning in and stealing a kiss, he pressed forward, not bothering to be gentle.

"God, _yes_!" Harry cried, pushing his hips to meet Draco's with every well-timed thrust. It only took a minute for the blond to find his prostate, and Harry let his head fall back in ecstasy as stars rushed into his vision. He wanted to lift his hands to feel Draco's chest but the blond held his hands firmly to the bed, only pushing down harder when Harry made a move to slide his hands away. "Fuck, Draco…" he lifted his legs, allowing the blond deeper entrance, and locked them around Draco's back.

The blond grunted, sweat beading at his own temple with each thrust. Harry was as hot and tight as ever around him, a vision of pale skin and lean muscle. "I'm not going to last," he said as he realized it. He had already been close when he'd first entered his lover, and he never lasted when Harry responded so willingly to his thrusts, when wanton moans and gasps fell from his kiss-swollen lips.

Harry opened his mouth as if to reply, but with another forceful thrust he came untouched, spurting semen onto both their stomachs, screaming a morph of a curse and Draco's name. Muscles clenched in rhythmic spasms around Draco's cock, and with his own choked cry the blond spilled into his lover, burying his face in Harry's shoulder as he rode out his own orgasm.

They stayed like that for several long minutes, hands clasps tightly together, Draco's forehead heavy against Harry's shoulder, his cock softening inside Harry's arse. Finally the black haired man squirmed slightly, and with a kiss pressed to his shoulder, Draco drew out with a sigh. At first he'd hating the feeling of come drying between them, but after years of dating Harry he would rather spend the minutes after mind blowing sex pressed against his lover rather than washing himself off. Unless washing off involved a shower and Harry, with emphasis on the 'Harry.'

Harry turned his head when Draco lay down beside him, still holding his hands. The two smiled at each other, and Harry opened his mouth.

"See? It's already worth it."

Draco didn't know whether to hit the man or to laugh, so he settled for kissing him.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think, please!

- Wykkyd


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